I have been a fan of John Stewart. Not the Jon Stewart of Comedy Central, but the John Stewart of Signals Through the Glass, California Bloodlines, The Lonesome Picker Rides Again, Wingless Angels, etc. I have just finished listening to the last album he recorded before his death in January 2008, The Day the River Sang.

As with all his albums, John Stewart reminded us of an America that we remember faintly in the past and dearly hope still exists. His songs often had contemporary themes, but he presented them through eyes, voice, and values that have grown rare.

His look backward was wistful, never revanchist. John loved Bobby Kennedy, campaigned with him up and down the valleys and coasts of California, and was with him that night in the Ambassador hotel. He never lost the hope for and love of America that he shared with Bobby--and so many of us--that summer. Even when he sang of contemporary tragedy--as in the amazing "New Orleans"--which mourns the city's loss after Katrina, he knows we will come back. And we know it too, as a result.

I am writing this tonight because, until a couple of weeks ago, I did not know we had lost his voice. We have his songs still, but that most American voice is gone. I used to follow him around the Denver area in the early 70s, catching his performances whenever I could. Somewhere along the line I got too busy to look up his concert schedule. Even when he regularly appeared at the Birchmere, a mere 90 minutes from my house. Then he was gone.

I remember John in his 40s, tough, rowdy. In his last appearances (I looked them up on YouTube) he was an old man in failing health but still writing, recording and performing. His voice was still real, if not so strong. I feel older and America is poorer for his absence.